Title: The Mystery Hunters at the Haunted Lodge
Author: Capwell Wyckoff
Release date: December 10, 2014 [eBook #47613]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
“Hey! Look here, fellows. A rifle shell!”
BY CAPWELL WYCKOFF
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
Akron, Ohio New York
Copyright, MCMXXXIV
The Saalfield Publishing Company
Printed in the United States of America
The High School at Cloverfield was quiet as the hands of the clock approached the three-o’clock hour. Then a gong pealed out and the building became a very beehive of sound. The thump of many feet and the hum of voices was heard. Healthy, wholesome young boys and girls poured out of the side doors and swarmed over the campus. Overcoats were pulled tighter as the nip of the keen Vermont air was encountered.
Two boys had come out together, and they paused to wait for two others. The boy with the clean-cut, manly face and the sparkling eyes was Barry Garrison, an outstanding boy in the Cloverfield High School. He had been the right halfback on the school team this year and had helped to lead it to a glorious record of no defeats and first place on the Conference list. He was an all-around athlete and stood well in his senior-year studies. Although Barry Garrison would have turned the idea aside with a good-natured laugh, he was the most popular boy in the high school.
His lifelong chum was Kent Marple. Kent’s father owned the local hotel, and the boy had enjoyed many advantages in life. He and Barry had been friends ever since they had been small boys. Young Marple was broader than Barry, with a heavy shock of black hair and a chin that was a trifle determined. He had played fullback on the football team during the past season.
These two boys did not seem to be in any hurry. Barry leaned against a maple tree and whistled softly, while Kent glanced from one side door of the school to the other.
“The twins must have been kept in,” Barry observed.
“Maybe they are clapping erasers for the teacher,” Kent grinned.
“If they are, they’ll clap ’em clean,” Barry laughed. “The Ford twins always finish what they start. Here they come now.”
Two boys came springing down the steps of the school building and looked around for Barry and Kent. When they had seen their particular friends, one of them waved, and then both boys dashed across the hard ground toward the boys under the trees. At first glance there was little to distinguish between Mac and Tim Ford. They were both the same height and build, stocky young fellows who had made splendid ends on the team. But at closer range some differences were apparent. Mac was sandy-haired, and Tim was gifted with a light brown mass of hair that sometimes managed to stay combed. Both boys had attractive, lively countenances and were well liked by everyone in the small town. They were often the leaders in the fun and could always be counted on to join in any kind of a lark. With Kent and Barry, they made up a quartet that was widely known.
Mac Ford beat his brother to the maple tree by a yard. “Thought we never would get out,” he panted. “Took Tim’s advice in a problem, and it was wrong. Had to do it over.”
“The trouble is that you didn’t take my advice,” Tim denied. “I tried to show you how to work it, but——”
“Never mind,” Barry interposed, thrusting his hands deep into his sweater pockets. “Let’s move along. It’s cold today.”
“It ought to be,” Kent observed. “Christmas is almost here.”
Two high-school boys and a girl passed them and nodded and smiled. “There they go,” the girl cried. “The mystery hunters!”
“Four Sherlocks, the locker-room detectives!” chimed in one of the boys. When this trio had passed on, the four chums looked at one another.
“They seem to keep calling us the mystery hunters,” Barry smiled.
“Just because we found out who was stealing things out of the lockers,” grunted Tim. “That wasn’t such a big job.”
“Anybody could have done it, if he had taken the trouble to,” Kent said.
“The biggest surprise about the whole thing was the fact that a boy like Carter Wolf was doing it,” Mac put in.
Proceeding slowly along the sidewalk toward home, the four boys once more discussed the recent events which had resulted in earning the name of “mystery hunters.” For a long time someone had been stealing athletic supplies and even rings and watches from the gymnasium locker room. Persistent efforts had been made to trap the thief, but without success. Finally the four boys had entered the case, chiefly because a birthday ring of Mac’s had been among the things taken. But for a long time they had not made any progress. The prowler seemed to know exactly what they were about. They even tried sleeping in the locker room, but even this produced no results. Finally they decided on strategy and rigged up a camera. This was placed in another room, at a place in the wall where a single brick had been knocked out. The locker doors were hooked up in such a way that when one of them was opened, the camera would operate.
They got immediate results with this. And on the day they took the camera down, a certain wealthy boy named Carter Wolf left school. The negative, when developed, showed that Carter Wolf was the guilty one. His startled face was turned toward the camera, whose click he had heard, and one hand was plainly seen opening a locker door. At first he denied the charges, but finally he had made good the losses in one way or another. Mac was lucky enough to get his ring back, but others found that their property had been sold to pay gambling debts that Wolf had contracted. Only the influence and pleading of his father had saved the boy from the punishment he richly deserved. For the time being he had disappeared from the community, but not until he had left a threat behind him.
“I’ll even scores with that Barry Garrison bunch,” he had promised.
With the identification of the mysterious sneak thief a wave of relief had swept over Cloverfield High School. The teachers and students were grateful to the four boys whose persistence had finally caught the prowler. The good-natured title of “mystery hunters” had been given them, and the boys knew that under it lay a genuine admiration for the piece of work that they had done.
“When you figure it all out,” Kent declared, as they stopped a moment before the brownstone house in which Barry lived, “there wasn’t much to it. Maybe there would be a different story if we ever ran up against a real mystery.”
“Mysteries are few and far between,” Tim said. “Let’s talk about something more vital. We’ll have about ten days of vacation at Christmas time. What’ll we do with it?”
“Eat popcorn and candy off the Christmas tree,” Mac grinned.
“Our tree won’t have enough on to keep us eating very long,” Tim answered. “Shall we do a little winter camping?”
“Either that or hunt some,” Barry agreed. “Let’s give it some thought in the next few days.”
The other boys went on down the street, while Barry turned in at the door of the brownstone house. Kent lived two doors beyond, and the twins lived around the corner in a big frame house. The Fords were not among the wealthiest people in the town, although Mr. Ford did have a fairly good business in dry goods. But they were a fine family, and Kent and Barry had been fond of the two lively boys since grammar-school days.
As Barry entered the hall, his sister Pearl was going up the stairs. In the library to the right of him he could see his father, seated under a lamp, reading a magazine. The rattling of a pan on the stove told him where his mother was.
Pearl was in her first year of high school and had preceded him home by several minutes. She paused a moment on the upper landing to address him.
“Here is the chief of the mystery hunters!” she called cheerfully. “Do you know that everybody is calling you that?”
“Yes, I know it,” he nodded. “I wish they would forget it.”
Mr. Garrison looked up from his magazine. “I need some real mystery hunters right now,” he said. “If you want to take on a real puzzler, come ahead.”
Barry was at once interested. His father was a lawyer and frequently handled important cases. The boy placed his books on a hall table and walked into the library.
“What’s it all about, Dad? What mystery are you talking about?”
Mr. Garrison took off his glasses and wiped his eyes. “I was thinking about that haunted hunting lodge up on Lake Arrowtip,” he said. “But I was only joking when I told you to come ahead. It is a job that will test the brains of an expert detective.”
Barry sat down in one of the big chairs and faced his father. Mr. Garrison had put his magazine aside and was looking thoughtfully at his son.
“A haunted lodge, Dad? Where is it? What haunts it?”
The lawyer laughed. “One question at a time, son! I knew that you would want to know about it as soon as I mentioned that it was haunted, or supposed to be haunted. Because of course it isn’t.”
“Then what makes people say that it is? Tell me something about it, Dad. Where is it located on Lake Arrowtip?”
“Right about the middle of the lake, on a high bluff that commands a magnificent view up and down the big sheet of water. It is the hunting lodge that belongs to Mrs. Morganson, one of my clients. Some years ago she had that fine big lodge built and used to go up there once in a while herself, though she hasn’t been there in late years. You know Lake Arrowtip fairly well, don’t you?”
“Yes, I’ve hiked and camped up there with Kent and the twins. I think I know where that lodge is. Isn’t it a big log house with a porch looking out over the lake, off in the direction of Rake Island?”
“Yes, that is the place. Ever been in it?”
“No, but we’ve passed it in a canoe. There was a party at the lodge at the time. There is another cabin close by, a small log building.”
“Yes, that is the Bronson cabin. It is owned by a retired lawyer friend of mine, and he never uses it any more. It is very close to the lodge.”
“Well, tell me about this mystery, Dad. Do the people around there think the place is haunted?”
“There aren’t very many people around there to think that, but some of our town people won’t go to the place. I suppose you remember that Mrs. Morganson’s nephew disappeared up there over a year ago and has never been found.”
Barry slung one leg over the arm of the chair. “I do remember hearing something about that,” he replied. “Wasn’t he kidnaped and carried off to Canada somewhere?”
“It seemed so,” his father nodded. “There was one letter from Canada, telling his aunt not to worry, that he was being well treated. But no trace of him has ever been discovered, and some splendid detectives have been looking for Felix Morganson. Well, since the time that he disappeared, things haven’t been going well at Bluff Lodge.”
“Is that when the haunting began?” Barry asked.
“A little later than that. You see, Felix Morganson disappeared during a Thanksgiving party at the lodge. There was quite a crowd at the lodge, and they were enjoying a gathering at the time. Along about ten o’clock or so at night Mr. Morganson walked out of the place smoking a cigarette. Several saw him go, but no one asked him where or why he was going. As time went on they missed him, and finally some of the men walked out on the bluff which overlooks the lake, following his footsteps in the light snow that had fallen. Close to the edge of the bluff they found the snow kicked and scuffed up and his cigarette only partially smoked. Then there were long, dragging marks in the snow that seemed to indicate that he had been pulled along down the path to the lake. All trace of him was lost at that point, because the lake was frozen over and the ice was as smooth as glass.”
Barry was absorbed in the story. “No one in the lodge heard anything? No outcry or anything?”
His father shook his head. “No. But that same night a servant, a Frenchman, disappeared. He was a man that had been hired to cook and to wait on the tables, and this man was gone. No one knows whether he had anything to do with it all or not, but he left the lodge about the same time Felix Morganson did. No trace of him was ever found.”
“How long after the disappearance of Mr. Morganson before they heard from him?”
“About a month later. Then a hastily scrawled letter came from a little town in Canada, telling his aunt that he was well and not to worry. He stated that he did not have time to write any more at the moment. Of course the detectives hustled up to that town, but so far have been unable to learn anything or to uncover a single clue.”
“He has been missing well over a year now, hasn’t he?” Barry mused.
“Yes, because Thanksgiving was three weeks ago, and it was at that time that he vanished. The queer part about it all is the fact that no request for a ransom was ever received. Mrs. Morganson is quite wealthy, and a considerable sum could be raised among the friends of Felix. But there has never been any demand.”
“It’s funny.” Barry slumped lower in the chair, his mind busy with the details of the event. “But how about this haunting that you spoke of? That came later, didn’t it?”
“About three months after Felix Morganson disappeared,” Mr. Garrison answered. “Besides going up there herself once in a while, Mrs. Morganson also rents the place out to sportsmen who go up for the winter season to hunt, and to those that go there in the summer to fish. Well, late in January a group of sportsmen went there, and the understanding was that they would stay about three weeks. But at the end of one week they gave it up and took a smaller place down at the tip of the lake. They complained of ghostly rappings, or knocks on the door and no one there when they opened, and they also complained that some of their things had been stolen.”
“Sounds foolish,” Barry said.
“We thought it was, at first. You see, I handle all of Mrs. Morganson’s business, and I had rented the place to these men, who came from Connecticut. We thought for a while that they were just cranky and let it go at that. But two weeks later another party went in, and it was the same thing over again. Added to that, one of the men had an expensive fur coat stolen, and he wanted to bring suit against us. It seems that they heard about the experience of the former party and claimed that we had rented the lodge to them under false pretenses. We had some trouble getting out of that.”
“It must be just some ordinary thief that lives in the woods near there,” Barry ventured.
“If so, he goes around annoying everybody that puts up in the lodge. Later in the year some fishermen took over the place, and they had similar experiences, and, besides all that, they found their fishing boat scuttled one morning, three holes bored in it. Fortunately we had told them the reputation that the place was getting, but they had just laughed at it. They came away mad as hornets. Well, you can see what it is all doing. No one will rent the lodge now, and it had a long list of prospective renters once. The value of it keeps going down, and since we cannot rent or sell it at a decent price, it is standing idle.”
“Does Mrs. Morganson want to sell it?”
“She does now. We have both become so tired of the place and its problem that we would like nothing better than to get it off our hands. There is only one buyer at present, a man named Brand Curry, but he wants it at a price so low that we won’t even discuss it. The man never comes to me, he always goes directly to Mrs. Morganson.”
“But look here, Dad, did you ever have a detective on the case? Ever have any one go up there?”
“Oh, yes. I have had two private investigators spend some time on the case. One of them didn’t find anything or have any kind of an experience. But the other man did. He was a big, chunky fellow named Riley, and he said he could catch anything he went after. Said he would come home dragging the ghost or spook, or whatever it was, by the neck. He remained there two days and then came back and resigned from the case. The first night he was kept busy investigating thumps all over the place, and the second night his shoes and shirt were mysteriously whisked away somehow and he was in a fix because he hadn’t taken any baggage with him. He had to go to Fox Point and outfit himself there, and he had to go down there without shirt or shoes. He didn’t hear anything that night, and all the time he was there he didn’t see anything. He was a disgusted man when he came back here, and it was his opinion that the National Guard should be ordered up there.”
Barry and his father laughed at the plight of the private detective who had been so sure of victory over the haunting presence at Bluff Lodge. “But of course, Dad, you believe that someone is doing all this for a purpose?”
“I can’t see any other explanation,” his father confessed. “But I can’t figure out any reason for it. Why should anyone want to frighten camping parties that way? And who is clever enough to make raps and groans and knocks and yet disappear before anyone can spot him? That lodge stands pretty well out of the trees, and no one could dodge behind some convenient tree trunk after every one of these meaningless pranks. As for the disappearance of Mr. Riley’s shirt and shoes, that isn’t so much of a mystery, after all. The window was open in his room, and anyone could have fished the clothing out. He is lucky that they didn’t steal anything more and put him in a bad position.”
“That is one thing that convinces me that the spook is a clever one,” Barry said. “An amateur or a plain fun maker would have stolen all of his things. This one took just enough to create an air of mystery.”
The kindly face of Mrs. Garrison appeared in the doorway. “Supper is ready,” she smiled. Barry and his father walked out of the room together.
“Dad,” said Barry, “that’s a real mystery. I’d like nothing better than to go up there with some of the boys and nose around a bit. Maybe we could find out something.”
His father smiled and slapped him on the back. “Aren’t you taking that title of ‘mystery hunter’ a little seriously, Barry?”
“Maybe I am, Dad, but you never can tell. I still think our bunch could find out something of value. Just try us and see.”
Shortly after supper Barry Garrison left the house and crossed the grass in the direction of Kent’s home. But he was saved the trouble of a journey to his chum’s house by the appearance of Kent himself. He came dashing down the walk and joined Barry.
“Going for a walk?” he hailed.
“I’m going down to Sadler’s store and get my ice skates,” Barry replied. “I left them there to be sharpened. Thought you’d like to go along.”
“Glad to,” nodded Kent, falling into step beside him. “I want to do some studying a little later, and, after the supper I ate, I felt the need for a brisk walk. I was going to drop in and see you for a second before going back to the midnight oil.”
“I wanted to see you,” Barry informed him. “I’ve got quite an idea in my head for our winter vacation.”
“What? A hunting trip?”
“Yes, but not hunting animals. Hunting spooks!”
“What?” Kent demanded. “What did you say?”
“I said hunting spooks. Or ghosts or haunts or something. Think we could take a photograph of a rapping spook?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kent growled. “It all sounds goofy to me!”
Barry laughed. “It did to me, when my father was telling me about it. Tune in to the proper station while I tell you something about it.”
“I’m tuned in,” Kent said. “You’ll have to make it a good one, or it will all be static. Let’s hear it.”
As the two of them walked slowly toward the business section of Cloverfield, Barry related the story which he had heard from his father. Kent’s light and scornful attitude vanished as he listened, and he soon became as deeply interested as Barry had been. Their steps became slower, and they no longer felt the coldness of the night air. They had arrived outside the brightly lighted window of the hardware store just as Barry finished, and they lingered a moment to discuss it.
“That’s a first-class mystery,” Kent declared. “I’d like to go up there and snoop around some.”
“That’s just what I had in mind,” Barry told him. “I talked about it with Dad at the supper table, and he wasn’t very keen about it at first, but finally he said it wouldn’t hurt anything for us to go up there and look around. He said he would try and get permission for us to camp in the Bronson cabin, which is in sight of the lodge. How does that strike you?”
“Right on the bull’s-eye,” answered Kent, promptly. “We can hike up there in two days.”
“We can skate up there in less time than that,” Barry said. “The Buffalo River runs into the lake about two miles below the cabin and the lodge, and we could go that way. Even if we don’t accomplish a thing toward solving the mystery, we will at least have a good vacation, taking in a skating trip and camping in a cabin.”
“Sure thing! We’ve never camped in a cabin. Say, look who is in the hardware store.”
Following the direction of Kent’s nod, Barry glanced through the glass, and his eyes rested on the form of a boy about their own age, who was examining a sleeping bag. This young man was well dressed and wore an expensive fur coat. On a counter near by a pile of camping equipment lay spread out. Barry recognized the boy at once. It was Carter Wolf, the one who had been detected stealing from the lockers at school.
“Looks like Wolf is going somewhere,” he said.
“Going to have a lot of duffle with him, too,” added Kent. “This is the first time we’ve seen him since our affair of the locker room. Let’s see if he greets us with politeness.”
They entered the store. There was only one clerk in attendance, and he was busy with Carter Wolf. Just as they closed the door they heard Wolf purchase the sleeping bag. He saw the boys and flushed slightly, but contented himself with merely turning his back on them.
“Anything else, Mr. Wolf?” the clerk asked. Wolf consulted a list which he held in his hand.
“Just one thing more,” he answered. “I want a lantern.”
The clerk quickly procured one from stock. “You’re buying a lot of stuff, Mr. Wolf,” he smiled. “Must be going on a camping trip somewhere.”
Wolf raised his voice slightly. “I am. A bunch of us are going up to camp on Lake Arrowtip.”
Barry and Kent exchanged glances and then looked frankly at the goods which Wolf had purchased. They were expensive things, and there was no doubt that the rich boy was planning a real winter camping trip. Fishing tackle and an ax for ice fishing, an old stove, a rifle and several boxes of shotgun shells, a hunting coat and cap, two pairs of boots, the sleeping bags for two other members of his party, and a handsome hunting knife. He gave directions for having the goods sent to his home and then left the store, ignoring the presence of the boys.
“Wonder whom he is going camping with?” Kent asked, as they waited for the ice skates to be wrapped up.
“He goes with a crowd of fellows from Harrison,” Barry said. “Probably they are the ones who will go. He evidently intends to be right in our territory, so we’ll have to make room for one another. I don’t like him well enough to want to be very near him or his crowd.”
“I don’t, either,” Kent agreed. “He could be a nice fellow if he tried hard, but it is easier to be the other way. Trouble with him is, his daddy has always spoiled him. Well, we’ll be in a cabin, so we’ll probably not conflict with one another.”
They left the store and walked toward home, still discussing the thing nearest their minds. Close to Barry’s house they met the twins, who were just striding along under a lamplight.
“We’ll have some news for them that will open their eyes,” Kent chuckled.
The twins bore down on them. “Here you are!” Mac cried. “Tell us all about the trip to Arrowtip Lake!”
“Yes,” chimed in Tim. “When do we go up to the haunted lodge and get busy?”
Barry and Kent surveyed the grinning Ford boys for a moment in silence, “the wind taken right out of their sails,” as Kent said afterwards. Then Barry grunted.
“Where’d you fellows hear about that lodge?” he demanded.
“That won’t be much trouble to answer,” Kent declared, before either of the boys could speak.
“They have been to your house, and Pearl told Mac. Whatever you tell one of them, you tell the other.”
Mac’s only answer to the charge was a bland grin which admitted nothing, but Barry knew that Kent was right. His sister Pearl was an avowed friend of Mac’s, and the school chatter always linked their names together.
“I might have known it,” Barry said. “Well, as far as that goes, it wasn’t any secret from you fellows, but it mustn’t get all over town. I’ll warn Pearl to keep it quiet. I suppose you’ll want to go along.”
“Do we!” cried Tim. “Try and leave us home!”
“What do you think about skating up Buffalo River to the lake?” Kent asked.
“Good idea,” Mac approved. “There are a couple of places where we’ll have to leave the ice and hike.”
“I know that,” Barry acknowledged. “But we can skate most of the way. How much of the story did Pearl tell you?”
They stood under the street light in a group, and the Ford boys told what they had learned. Pearl knew most of the events that had taken place at Bluff Lodge, and with only a few details Barry completed the story. All the boys were now more eager than ever before to go.
“Let’s keep the mystery part a secret,” Kent urged. “We’ll simply give out the information that we are going on a Christmas-vacation camping trip. That is partly true and is as much as anyone else needs to know.”
“Do you think we’ll run afoul of Wolf and his bunch?” Tim asked.
“I hardly think so,” was Barry’s reply. “We won’t let them worry us if we do see them. Well, I want to get on home and do a little studying. Are you twins through with yours?”
It developed that the twins had simply gone out for a walk after their evening meal and had dropped in first at Kent’s and then at Barry’s home. It was the custom of the four boys to stroll some after supper and then buckle down to their studies. They all made fair grades in school, and Kent was the outstanding one among them.
“Are you fellows going to win that soccer game against Berkley?” Kent asked the Fords, as they lingered for a moment in front of Barry’s door. His question immediately plunged them into a discussion concerning the soccer game, now only two days off. Tim and Mac were on the team, but Kent and Barry had cast in their lots with the gymnasium group.
They finally separated, somewhat reluctant to split up, as they were devoted friends, and the study table was less to be desired than their companionship. But as Mac expressed it, “all good things have to come to an end, even a plate of ice cream!” and with that the soccer players started off on a sprint around the corner, while Barry and Kent went to their front doors with less forceful energy.
Two days later Cloverfield went to Berkley to play soccer. The team had gone down earlier in the day in a big bus, and the rooters followed in cars and on the train. Barry and Kent decided to go by rail, as it was a short trip and not too expensive, so they caught the proper train and were soon in the small town and on their way to the athletic field.
The game was a stirring one, and the two boys in the stand were gripped by it. The two teams battled up and down the field fiercely, driving the ball forward and being hurled back. It became so exciting that Barry and Kent left the stand and followed the teams from one end of the field to the other.
“Too doggone cold to sit in the stand today, anyway,” Barry said.
Both teams were battling for a secure position in the school conference, and victory today meant something. The boys who had run out on the field in the short trousers and thin, sleeveless jerseys were now warm and glowing with the swift running and kicking and blocking. It seemed as though it must end in a scoreless tie.
Mac and Tim had been battling to the limit. Tim bore down on a Berkley kicker and leaped into the air, blocking the sailing ball. Racing around the almost spent player, Tim dashed into position to kick the ball across the goal line. But the safety man was facing him, ready to boot the football far down the field and out of danger. Just then Tim saw his brother cut loose and leave the tangled group. Mac’s voice reached him in husky pleading.
Tim kicked the ball across on an angle, and Mac’s toe met it with a mighty boot that abruptly changed its course. Caught off guard, the goal tender made a mad dive for the oncoming ball. But he was a fraction too late, and the soccer ball flashed across for the first goal and point.
Kent and Barry joined enthusiastically in the wild cheer that went up from Cloverfield rooters. In the next six minutes that remained, Berkley fought fiercely to even the score, but Cloverfield fought as grimly to turn them back and prevent them from scoring. In this they were successful, and the game ended with a victory in favor of the visiting team by the score of one to nothing.
“Great work that the twins did,” approved Barry, as they followed the crowd out of the stand section.
“You’re right,” nodded Kent. “That gives us the edge on the championship. We’ll congratulate the boys when we see them at home.”
They found quite a crowd assembled at the station, and their train was not due for some time. There was a holiday spirit among the people, and the station was decorated with wreaths and sprigs of Christmas greens. Toys and candy were displayed in one case. The stoves at each end of the station glowed, and the heat felt good.
Kent and Barry joined a group of home school boys and chatted. Presently Barry left the circle and walked over to the counter to buy a newspaper. Obtaining one, he glanced over the headlines and then turned to the sport page. There were some comments on games and players, and he sat down on a high-backed station seat to read. On the other side two men were seated and talking, but Barry was too absorbed even to glance their way. It was a chance phrase that caught his attention.
“Anything new on that Bluff Lodge deal?” a voice asked.
The voice that answered was coarse and husky. “No. The old lady don’t want to accept my price. But let her hold out if she wants to. The value don’t go up any. Not on that place.”
There was a pause. Barry’s eyes were still on the print, but he did not see it. His ears were listening keenly. It was possible that they were talking about some other place than the haunted lodge. The words of the first man came to him once more.
“Nobody will rent the place. She’ll be ready to give it away before long.”
At that moment the train puffed into the station, drowning out every other sound. Barry growled inwardly. “It would have to get in just at this moment!” Folding his paper, he stood up casually and looked after the two men, who were walking out to board the train. One was tall and thin, and the other was short and chunky. He was unable to see the face of either one clearly.
“Now I wonder who those fellows are,” he mused. “No doubt Dad will know them, if they are connected in any way with Bluff Lodge. And from the way they talked, they have an interest in that place.”
A few days after the victorious soccer game with Berkley the high school closed for the Christmas vacation. With whoops of joy the boys and girls poured out of the institution of learning and started home, eager for the holiday and all the good things connected with it. A light snow had fallen the night before, and the country was clothed with a blanket of white.
“Tomorrow night Tim will sit up and try to see what Santa Claus looks like,” Mac grinned, as the four boys walked down the main street. “He always does, until Pa chases him to bed. He——”
Tim cut his speech short by neatly planting a hastily packed snowball back of Mac’s ear. His brother returned the fire, and finally Kent and Barry joined in, the fun becoming fast and furious. A group across the street began to bombard them, and then the four chums turned on the common enemy. In this manner, enjoying the sharp air and the good-natured fun, the boys came to Barry’s door and stopped for a final word.
“When shall we get started?” Tim asked.
“I think we ought to light out on the morning after Christmas,” Barry said.
“I don’t know about that,” Kent objected. “We have to buy some provisions and pack our sled, and we won’t want to do that on Christmas. Let’s make it two days after the great holiday.”
The others agreed to this. “As far as I can see, nobody knows why we are going,” Mac said.
“No, I think everyone believes that we are just going off on a camping trip,” said Barry. “That is what we want them to think. After all, we may not learn a thing about the mystery, and in that case our trip will be just a winter camp.”
“But we’ll work like the dickens to get a line on the spook,” promised Kent, as they parted.
Christmas Day was cold and gray, and late in the afternoon it began to snow. For several hours the light flakes fell, and the boys were beginning to worry. If the snow became too deep, their trip would have to be put off, and it looked very much as though the ice on the river would be covered in such a way that skating would be impossible. But the day following the holiday a wind blew the snow into drifts and banks and Kent reported that the river was clear enough to skate on.
Christmas Day passed off quietly, and the boys enjoyed it. There were gifts and family gatherings and a cheery air in general. The next day they busied themselves, preparing to go on their trip. In Kent’s barn there was a wide, low sled, and they began to pack it with supplies and food. Late in the afternoon they stood in a group and surveyed it.
“Guess everything is on there,” Barry said thoughtfully.
“I can’t think of anything else,” Kent admitted.
“Who is going to pull the sled at the start?” Tim asked, roping an ax down firmly.
Kent winked at Barry. “Seems like you twins ought to pull it all the way,” he said. “You are both the same size and would show up well in harness!”
“We wouldn’t look any better than you would,” Mac retorted. “Let’s flip a coin to see who pulls first.”